It's Not A Spell
by Nishinn
Summary: This is bad. Arthur is somehow taken ill during the most important event of the year, and he's very certain his next-door neighbor was to blame. Turns out he wasn't though, and now he has Alfred taking care of his bedridden self all week. (Wizard AU, USUK sickfic!)


**From a request on Tumblr! So I really wanted to write a sickfic, but at the same time I had a Wizard AU to write, and _bam_ this was born.**

 **I hope you enjoy it!~**

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 _Summary: This is bad. Arthur is somehow taken ill during the most important event of the year, and he's very certain his next-door neighbor was to blame. Turns out he wasn't though, and now he has Alfred taking care of his bedridden self all week. (Wizard AU, USUK sickfic!)_

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This… this was bad.

This was _bad bad bad bad bad._ No, no, no, no, no… Not now, not at this time of year.

Please, please no… How could this even be possible? Arthur knew he was perfectly healthy, glowing even, only fifteen hours ago. He went to bed in a pleasant mood without even a slightest itch, and now…

"Hey, Artie, are you-"

Oh no.

" _Pffft_ … What happened to _you_?"

Great. Perfect. He could practically hear the sadistic joy in Alfred's voice upon seeing his misery.

"Oh god, you look like an elephant with the flu…. Oh my god…" Arthur didn't need to turn around to know that Alfred was doubling over from laughter; he knew his next door neighbor all too well.

Alfred Jones was the type to use his spells and potions to pull pranks on others instead of doing actually useful things. He, being the utter _child_ he was, would take pleasure in someone else's humiliation—especially Arthur's humiliation…

Then it clicked.

"You," Arthur sneered, turning to face his neighbor who was still chortling over by the door. He tried not to let anymore snot dribble down his swelling and _extremely_ runny nose as he glared at the other man. "You… D-did you put a spell on me?!"

Alfred's laughter immediately died down, but that unforgiving smirk still lingered on his lips. Of course not!" He said, holding his right hand up. "I would _never,_ dear Artie."

"Oh, stop feigning innocence, you little twat! You _know_ this is all your fault!" Arthur paused, trying to stifle a sneeze, and succeeded for the most part. "You'd do this _specifically_ on this time of year just to mess with me." He sniffed, running an arm under his nose.

Damn it… this was getting worse. His headaches were already bad enough without the insufferable young wizard around, and limbs won't seem to stop shaking. He blamed it all on the… the spell.

"Hey, Arthur, you know I'd never. Especially not when the Wizard's Tournament is coming around. You know that."

"Oh, shut it." He was feeling far too miserable to deal with his neighbor's sick jokes. "If this isn't a sort of spell, then what is it? Why can't my potions cure it?"

All traces of amusement seemed to vanish from Alfred's face in an instant. He scanned Arthur up and down, a piercing look in his blue eyes. This made the latter feel very uncomfortable. He'd seen that look a number of times—whenever Alfred read from his spell books, examined his concoctions, or looked up a new ancient artifact. He knew Alfred was far smarter than he seemed, it was just a shame it was a side of himself he didn't show more often.

"I think…" Alfred murmured. "I think… And this is legit, I've read this before… That you might have Toad's Fever."

Arthur almost laughed, if it wasn't for his insufferable headache. "T-toad's Fever? Ha!" A wet cough. "I doubt that. Isn't that disease so rare it's practically _made up_?!"

"No, it's not." Alfred defended, his smirk now replaced with an upset pout. "It's not made up, I've read it in one of the books I have. I'm pretty sure it isn't viral, and would stay non-lethal if you don't strain yourself physically…. I-I think…"

"See! You're not even-" _Cough._ "-sure!"

Now he frowned. "And _you're_ getting worse. I think you should just stay in bed for the rest of the week. I'll dig out that old book and see what it has to say about Toad's Fever. Although I'm pretty sure I have it right."

Arthur growled. "This is preposterous! This is just some stupid spell you put on me just to scare me about not being able to watch the Tournament-" Another string of wet coughs. "J-just stop messing with me and lift the damn spell."

Arthur wanted to sound convincing, but the more he spoke, the more sincere Alfred seemed about being innocent. His brow was wrinkled in concern and his lips were pursed tight in thoughtfulness. He knew that look… it wasn't there often, but he knew that look.

Hah… he might know Alfred a little too well for his own good.

"Have you tried the traditional healing spells, then?" Alfred asked. Arthur nodded, but immediately regretted the mind-throbbing result. "Have you used a _aracab roots_? Animal-based spells? Incantations? Even one of your freaky charms?"

 _Yes, yes, yes, and yes._ He'd tried everything—no results.

Alfred sighed, crossing his arms. "Well, no Wizard Tournament for the both of us, then. It's a shame, I even bought us front-row tickets."

Arthur had to do a double-take. The annual Wizard Tournament was a _huge event_ in their country. It was celebrated by nearly _everyone._ Competitors were treated like gods, the stadium was so large that more than half the population could attend, and even if you were not able to attend, you would still feel part of the whole thing simply standing outside. Sure, it was broadcast all over the television, but only newborns and old crones were the poor saps unable to attend. Much like everyone, Arthur's childhood had been built on the Tournaments. Not being able to so much as rush to the outskirts of the stadium, since every ticket had been sold out the moment he could buy one, brought a sense of severe dread and depression to Arthur.

So what the hell did Alfred mean by _bought us front-row tickets_?! Those cost the price of a _house._

"Wh…w-what…?"

"Yeah, you just had to screw your lungs up _this_ year, huh Artie?" Alfred chuckled, then proceeded to push a still very dumbfounded Arthur onto the sofa. "Just lie down, alright? I'll get'cha some tea and cookies, then I'll check out the old Toad's Fever book later." And with that, he made his way into Arthur's kitchen, familiar enough with his house to know where all the utensils and food were arranged.

It didn't take long for Alfred to return with a cup of freshly boiled tea and a plate of croissants. They all got their bread from the local baker, Francis, so he didn't have to worry about brunt scones being all there was in the pantry.

"Couldn't find any cookies, so here." He set the food down on the coffee table, along with a steamed towel and a box of tissues, all of which Arthur gladly accepted. It took a bit of shifting and help from Alfred before he could properly sit up and drink some tea.

Alfred had also found a nice cotton blanket and wrapped it around Arthur. "I remember the book saying the Fever makes you cold." He stated. Arthur could only nod lightly—mostly from his stifling illness, and partly because… well, he really didn't know what to think of all this.

Alfred, of all people, was being _nice_ to him. Caring about him, even. Well, he _was_ one of the closest friends Arthur has ever had, not that he would admit to it. But why would he still…?

"You think you'll be okay in here for a bit?"

Arthur nodded.

"Alright, I'll be back in a bit. Hopefully that old book mentioned a cure for the Fever… Hey, don't suddenly start waltzing around the house while I'm gone, okay?'

He nodded again, choking back another violent cough.

Ugh… he felt horrible. His nose, mouth, throat and lungs seemed to be heavy and filled with liquid. His nose was drooping all over and he was pale—paler than usual. His eyes were watery and every limb felt like a sack of wet newspapers.

Ha. Even if he _did_ want to strain himself, he wouldn't have the energy to. In fact, he felt the energy draining out of him by the second. Only moments ago he was ready to punch Alfred in the face, and now he simply wanted to curl up and die, resurrecting on the day of next year's Tournament.

This was going to be a long week.

* * *

Alfred had returned with the old, brown, leather-bound book in hand, carried Arthur into his bed, set up his system for tissues and the trashcan, and began tediously scanning the book's pages. He had, after a good twenty minutes of reading and re-reading, declared that there was no known cure. Arthur would be alright if he simply stayed in a state of rest for a full week, and the illness would only turn lethal if he strained himself physically.

The most embarrassing, and rather endearing part ( though Arthur would never admit it), was that Alfred had volunteered to watch over him for the next seven days. He couldn't strain himself, nor did he have the energy to try, so Alfred would be taking care of his every need like a -ugh- ' _hero!'_

But there was that matter…

The Tournament was a big a thing to Alfred as it was to Arthur. He remembered their first trip to the stadium together, maybe four years ago, and it had become their annual thing. Alfred was always an excited little puppy, over-enthusiastic and dreaming of getting to sit at the front row.

The front row tickets were true wallet-murderers. Only the rich, cunning, and extremely hardworking got those. Arthur would be lying if he said he hadn't fantasized about what the front row would be like…

"H-hey, Al?"

"Yeah? Need anything?"

"Could… could I see those front-row tickets you said you bought?"

Alfred seemed a little perplexed at this, but nodded. "Um, sure. Hold on…" He twisted his fingers in the air, snapped them to open his personal dimensional-pocket, and pulled out two sleek black tickets, about the size of his palm, with glinting gold and red text on them.

"Woah."

Alfred couldn't help but smirk at this. " 'Woah' indeed."

Arthur tentatively reached out to them, over-dramatically caressing the golden text with his fingertips. He chuckled a little, then drew his hand back to cover up another cough. "When… when did you start saving up for these, Al?" he couldn't help the smile on his face, and was delighted to see the other returning it.

"About eight years ago." He admitted. "I… I was a kid back then, saving up for those sweet seats. I had enough money to get one about four years ago, and I was really excited but…Well, you came along. I figured that wanted to go to the Tournament with you."

Oh. That's right… he had invited him and… if he hadn't, Alfred would've lived his dream of…

"And remember when you said you honestly could never get the tickets yourself, then laughed it off? Well… I thought, what if I just saved up for your ticket too. Then we could both get front seats at the same time."

Well… how stupid…ha ha…

"I… I suppose this makes me the worst friend of all time, doesn't it?" Arthur offered a soft smile. "That's stupid, Alfred."

"What?"

How could he manage to treat this like it was no big deal? In those four years, Arthur knew Alfred had to dramatically limit his spending and work several extra jobs. For _four years_. How was finally harvesting the fruits of his labor and not getting to relish them suddenly not a big deal? How could he simply just… brush it off?

"All those extra jobs and working late into the night to fill up orders… just to get me a damn ticket? For four years? And yet you still manage to annoy me every day and show up at my house, huh?" he shook his head, smiling fondly. A new sort of stinging prickled the corners of his eyes. "Why don't you go tomorrow? On your own? I'll be alright here… You already have the tickets. Live the dream..."

"No."

"What?" Ridiculous. Alfred was being ridicu-

"I said _no_ , Arthur. I worked for those tickets for me _and_ you. When I said I was getting front seats with you, I _meant_ that I was getting front seats with you. Nothing you can say will change my mind, Art. I…" Alfred sighed, giving a lopsided grin. "I care about you too much, alright?"

At the moment, Arthur didn't know _what_ to think of that statement, or the blazing red spreading across the other's cheeks, especially when Alfred rushed out of the door shouting something about more tea, completely leaving Arthur's still-full porcelain teacup on the nightstand.

* * *

"Looks like we're having a TV marathon!"

Arthur scowled at his neighbor who plopped down on the couch beside him. The movement sent Arthur's head spinning, but otherwise, he was still the same.

Used tissues littered the floor, the same cotton blanket from the previous day was still wrapped around him, and Alfred was still there by his side.

The younger wizard took one look at the floor, and with a little wave of his hand, had the tissues all cleaned up and transported into the kitchen's trashcan.

"Thanks." Arthur sniffed.

"No problem."

Alfred began to switch through the channels, until finally, the TV's screen featuring an infomercial on new wands had abruptly turned to static, then burst to life with the raging images of the Magistae Stadium. Place was the same as Arthur remembered. On the little square screen, he could see all eight-hundred rows of seats, the mass of people sending fireworks and streamers into the sky, and the glowing blue field in the center where the contestants, all fitted into sparkling costumes, were to compete.

His eyes seemed to be glued to the ring of red seats surrounding the center field, the people seated there so close to the competitors enough to give them a high-five.

He could've been there right now. _Alfred_ could've been there right now, hooting along with the crowd and high-fiving contestants.

He looked over to his neighbor, whose eyes twinkled in excitement behind his glasses. His shoulders were tense with anticipation and his hand gripped Arthur's tight.

"You could've been there, you know." Arthur said, immediately regretting his words as the grin was wiped clean off the younger's face. But it was true—he could've been there; all he had to do was _leave._

"Arthur, I am _not_ getting into another argument with you about why I'm staying." He grumbled. "Just… I meant what I said. Besides, I might be featured on TV for being that one guy sulking in the front row." Alfred finished with a chuckle.

Arthur almost chuckled along, but settled for a small smile. "You… You really mean it? That you really won't go unless I come with you?"

Maybe it was that adorable blush spreading across Alfred's cheeks that had Arthur positively _melting._ "Duh," he said. "I told you, I care too much."

"Yes, you do." Arthur agreed, then turned away to cough into more tissues. "You know," He said, turning back with a sniffle. "I would've most likely done the same thing were I in your place."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. " _Most likely_?"

"Yes. Unlike me, you're confident enough to invest in something you aren't even sure will be reciprocated."

"And what would that thing be?"

"Who knows?" Arthur offered a coy smile, before nuzzling his growing blush into Alfred's shoulder.

Alfred laughed back. "I think I know," He said, and gave Arthur's hand a little squeeze. Then, to his surprise, a kiss on top of his head. "And I think I've already got my money's worth."

Well, if that didn't make Arthur feel warmer inside.

"We… still get to go next year?" he asked.

"Of course. These tickets are refundable."

"Good," Arthur laughed. "Still… I don't know how to repay you, Alfred. Thank you."

"Oh? Well, how about a picnic on the Grove as soon as you're better?"

"Are you… asking me out?"

"Maybe."

Hmm… maybe he had more confidence than he thought. "Oh, why not?"

"Yes…!"

If that blindingly bright grin was anything to go by, Arthur was almost certain that this whole Fever ordeal was worth it. Well, worth the sickness, that is. In his opinion, that date would've gone far better spent at the front row of Magistae Stadium, and maybe even a kiss would be in order. But hey, a picnic didn't sound too bad either. It was all still with Alfred, after all.

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 **What'd you think? Thanks for reading, leave a review~**

 **~Nixh**


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